


Twist of Fate

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Possessive Behavior, Sasha James Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: Sasha doesn't want to die, but it might not be up to her. Then again, it might not be up to the thing chasing her, either.
Relationships: Sasha James/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MildredMost for the beta.

Sasha starts telling herself that she might not make it out of this alive about five minutes after she gets separated from Elias. She prides herself on being practical, and the truth of the matter is that she's alone, she's vulnerable, and when she finally stops running she finds that she’s wound up in the creepiest place in the Institute. Considering that they currently seem to be living in a horror movie, that pretty much marks her for death, doesn't it? Of course it does.

She tells herself that knowing what's coming helps; that it will make it easier to accept, but when she speaks into the recorder that she still clutching for some reason her voice shakes, and she knows that it's a lie. She doesn't want to die here, doesn't want her last thoughts, her last words, to be of this place. Now that it is too late she wishes that she had taken Jon up on his offer of letting her quit. Can't remember why it had seemed so important to keep on in the first place. She supposes it was pride; pride and an unwillingness to have Jon think her a coward.

"Please," she says, voice trembling. "I don't want to die here."

Something is coming. She can hear it moving towards her. The steps are heavy and dragging, but they don't sound anything like the way Prentiss had moved; there’s no wet, squirmy noises, no soft plops as the worms coming out of her hit the floor. This is something else.

She should run. She knows that she should run but she can't make her feet move. _I am going to die here_ , she thinks, and for the first time the thought has true weight, and she realizes that she was only pretending to accept it before. She hadn't really thought that it could happen, not to her. Now, the knowledge settles around her like weights dragging her down, and tears prick her eyes as she finally comes to accept the truth.

The thing starts to come through the door - she gets a glimpse of a long gray body and a face that is no face at all - and then there is a burst of sound from her left and something sharp bites into the meat of her upper arm, piercing flesh. She cries out, legs finally unlocking as she tries to run, to get away from the pain and the wrong thing coming through the door, but whatever has her arm digs in deeper and _pulls_ , and her now loose legs send her tumbling sideways, and she spills to the floor. When she falls whatever has embedded itself in her arm is removed; she lets out a little scream of pain.

She scrambles to her feet, trying to look in all directions at once. She's in a small room with no doors or windows, and on her left is a tall figure with wavy blond hair – wavy everything really, from head to feet, fingers far too long and sharp, twisted. Sasha backs away from it until her back hits the wall, and then she simply stands there, wide-eyed, waiting for it hurt her.

But it doesn't come closer at all. Instead it settles against the opposite wall, watching her with lively curiosity. "You're bleeding," it says finally, and only then does Sasha register the throbbing in her arm. She glances down and winces at her torn shirt. The gouges in her arm look cruelly deep, bleeding heavily and soaking her shirt in blood. She presses her hand to them, gritting her teeth against the pain, and looks back up. The thing in front of her hasn’t moved, merely watches her with titled head and a blandly curious expression. 

“I remember you,” she says. “You’re Michael.”

“Yes,” it says, pleased. “That is a good name.”

"What do you want?" she asks, hating how thin and reedy her voice is. She sounds like a frightened child, and everyone knows that being afraid only draws the awful things down on you. But she can't help it; she is frightened. She has gone from one bad situation to another; this thing will kill her as surely as whatever else is out there would have.

It tilts his head. "I want to see what happens," it says. "I want to see what you'll do as yourself."

"I-what?"

"You're…like him. Not the same, but similar. Curious. You followed when you should have run. It was interesting. I don’t want the Stranger to have you.”

"I don't understand. The Stranger?"

"No matter. It’s gone now."

"Right." Curious, it had called her. And it isn’t wrong. All she should want is to go home, be away from everything that’s happening, but… “Where has it gone? Is it still in the Institute?”

“Perhaps.” Its voice is dismissive, but Sasha is horrified.

“So then this Stranger will just take someone else? No!”

“It’s not for you to decide. Two are being looked after; the rest must see to themselves.”

“Two? You mean me and –“

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” it sing-songs, and while there is amusement lacing the words Sasha can hear the warning underneath, so she lays it aside for the moment. Savior or not, she senses that it would be a bad idea to push this Michael too far.

"Are you going to keep me here?"

“Would you like me to?” Michael smiles. It looks wrong on its face, both too large and too small, the lips both seeming to stretch and not move at all.

“I would like to see the others,” she says carefully, “and I would like to go home.”

“Then that’s what you should do.”

“When, exactly?”

"Whenever you want." It gestures with one of its awful hands, and Sasha flinches before she can stop herself. The hand curls back towards its chest immediately and it looks down at the floor, and Sasha feels an odd pang of guilt.

"I-How?"

"How does anyone leave a room? You use the door.”

“There is no-“ it points again, but it doesn’t have to. Sasha can feel the handle poking her in the back. “That wasn’t there before.”

It smiles again. It’s just as unnerving as the last one, but Sasha supposes that she’s getting used to it. She smiles back tentatively.

“It isn’t there now.” The smile fades as it takes a step towards her, then another, and maybe it’s the blood loss or maybe she’s just experienced too much fear today and doesn’t have room for any more, but Sasha doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands still and lets it get closer and closer, lets it reach out and touch her face with its twisted, long, sharp fingers. It draws a line of pain down her cheek; it’s like being tickled with a knife. “You could stay,” it says, voice low and oddly vulnerable. “I could let you into my corridors; we could wander them together.”

“Oh,” she says, startled. “That’s…generous of you, but I really do want to go home. If you don’t mind.” Part of her insists that giving it a choice will damn her, but she can’t help it. It just seems so lonely, suddenly, standing here in front of her and offering its twisted version of company. And it had helped her, after all.

It draws another sharp line on her face and it occurs to her that this is the closest that it can come to a caress; the blood it can’t help but draw wells and slides down her face, warm like tears. “I will see you again,” it says, oddly tender, and then the door opens behind her and she is tumbling back into Artefact Storage.

Footsteps rapidly approach, and Sasha experiences a moment of pure, unadulterated panic before Elias appears at the door. His nostrils flare for a moment, and one of his eyebrows goes up. “I see you’ve made it out mostly unscathed,” he says, and there’s an odd note to his voice that Sasha can’t quite place. “I was worried.”

“Where were you?” she asks. “I looked up and you were gone. And then I was chased down here and –“

“And?”

“I-“ for some reason she doesn’t want to tell him what really happened. But that’s silly; even if she doesn’t tell him Jon will want to know, and unless she lies to Jon too there’s no point in lying now. “Something found me. Not Prentiss; something else. But then there was – I was rescued, I suppose. By-by Michael.”

“I see.” Elias peers closely at her. “Prentiss has been neutralized. Jon is upstairs, insisting on collecting everyone’s statements before he goes home.” There’s exasperation in his voice when he says it, but also an odd note of satisfaction. Sasha barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Of course Elias would admire Jon’s dedication to the job. “If you’re feeling well enough, you can give him yours before leaving. But if you’d prefer to head straight to the A&E –“

“Why would I do that?” Sasha asks, and Elias frowns at her.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, gesturing, and only then does Sasha remember her arm and face.

“Oh,” she says, looking somewhat blankly at the former. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but it’s easy to see that she will require sutures. It hurts, and quite a bit, but the wounds look clean. “Yes. That would be a good idea, wouldn’t it?”

“I really think you should get it looked at,” Elias says. “Your face as well. The statement can wait. Jon will understand.”

“No. No, I’ll do that first. It doesn’t hurt too badly, and it’ll be easier that way.”

“If you insist.” Again the hint of satisfaction, and despite everything Sasha finds herself biting back a smile. She follows Elias out of the room, all the while fighting the urge to look back. _I’ll see you again,_ she thinks, and although she knows it’s batty she can’t help but look forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider letting me know. :)


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